


It's you, it's you, it's all for you (everything I do).

by orphan_account



Series: Fullmetal Femslash February 2014 [13]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Anti-fraternization law's a bitch., But that was the prompt., F/F, Femslash Challenge 2014, Femslash February, Multi, Other, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Unrequited Love, Warning that the femslash is one-sided.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the monthly summary meeting for the various departments at Central, Rebecca Catalina announces an update from the Fuehrer's desk, and all hell breaks loose. Too bad what could have been Maria Ross's salvation only thrusts her into a personal hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's you, it's you, it's all for you (everything I do).

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February. Prompt O2 on my bingo card, "Unrequited Love". Written for the prompt: "gc. gc gc gc what if you were to write like MORE becky/maria. i'm just saying. like. what if. you know. in a parallel universe. please?" Well, this isn't exactly what you wanted, but here you go.
> 
> This is painful. Since it's not true femslash (e.g. unrequited), I'm not tagging it as such.
> 
> The Maria Ross stuff with saving the Emperor in Xing is canon (for Mangahood at least, and it isn't rendered non-canon by '03, so). It's also awesome.
> 
> It's spelt Fuehrer here because I wrote it on a computer without access to an umlaut u (such a computer is usually called a phone, and such a computer sucks for writing long fics).
> 
> EDIT: No, Rebecca Catalina isn't an alchemist. That was just, ah, a metaphor used.
> 
> EDIT II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: Some minor typographical errors fixed. Damn me!
> 
> Unbeta'd/unedited/etc. Enjoy at your own risk!

There are two things that Maria Ross cannot stand no matter how much she tries: Lieutenant Colonel Leonhardt, the new head of Central’s Investigation Department, and playing the messenger during the monthly summary meetings between the various departments, as required by Fuehrer Grumman.

During the months Ross lay in wait in Xijing, the Xingese capitol, she saved the Emperor’s life—not once, but twice. Stood before a congregation of bowed Xingese waists and somehow found the words necessary to describe her gratitude at their hospitality while the translator continuously outpaced her, listening and speaking at once as though he existed solely as an in-out track for her bumbled speech.

Yet at each of these meetings her throat stops up. Her vocal cords transmute to thick cylinders of ice weighing down her chest. And they say she’s not an alchemist. Well, _she_ isn’t.

The alchemist in question bursts the doors open and hip-swings her way towards the circular table. In one hand, a thick folder of what Ross presumes to be some leftover paperwork she swept together to look busy. In the other, a coffee pot, halfway full. She throws herself into the seat one over from Ross, who glances down at the Investigations summary she’s spent the month preparing. One empty seat. Discreetly Ross gathers her papers. Starts to slide them to the right. Reminds herself tersely of the anti-fraternisation law. Shuts her feelings into a small box hidden in a dusty corner of her heart never to be seen again.

“ _Oooooo_ kay,” crows the alchemist responsible for the combustion of Ross’s cheeks, “I’m reading to _start_ this dumb waste of _tiii_ me.”

“Punctual as always, Catalina.” First Lieutenants Breda and Havoc enter together. Ross frowns: Technically, each unit is supposed to send in _one_ representation, but somehow Breda has managed to get himself the role of Briggs correspondent. Evidently, as he’s informed the other messengers, General Armstrong considers the meetings moronic and refuses to send one of her men across ice-fields for the sole purpose of drinking coffee for an hour. Without question the lieutenants seat themselves on Catalina’s either side. Breda grunts. “Sorry, Lieutenant Ross, but would you mind moving your chair a bit to the left . . . ?”

Shuffling the papers again, Ross complies silently with the request. Catalina, not once taking notice, props her elbows up on the table. “ _Soooo_ , now that everyone is here!” She whaps her folder on the table. “Let’s _git_ this party on the _road_.” Settling down into a slightly, _slightly_ more professional tone, Catalina calls on each department one at a time. Ross enunciates her usual report, Yes, two new leads on the serial killer case. Yes, they’ve already begun to stake out the area in question. No, no new murders since the previous update. Her gaze wheels steadily around the table rim as if observing the spokes of a wheel. Catalina. Grinning and silently laughing to herself and higher than high on life. Ross’s tongue knots. She’s forced to listen to her last few statements trail off into a tight silence like staring down the hollow barrel of a gun. “Er, Lt. Ross?” She says it that way: _Lit Ross_. “Kitty-cat got your tongue?”

“ _Pussy_ got her tongue at least,” someone mutters under xir breath. Mumbles of mirth around the table. Her work in Investigations can go fuck herself: She identifies the voice as Havoc’s and wishes she didn’t have a specific face at which to direct her embarrassment. Breda hits his shoulder.

Catalina clears her throat. The rustling mutterings fall quiet. “Is that all, Lt. Ross?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Stuttering. Since when does First Lieutenant Maria Ross _stutter_? Catalina watches her closely as she sinks to a sitting position.The papers she prepared capture her attention. Immensely. To the end. Because meeting Catalina’s gaze would be the greatest faux pas, greater even than refusing the Emperor’s rice wine, an action that nearly resulted in her execution.

The other departments wrap up. Catalina rattles off a report from the Fue

hrer’s desk; Ross pretends to ignore the stench of utter bullshit. “Oh, and the anti-frat law’s been amended. You can submit requests for exceptions; don’t tell _anyone_ , ‘cause the news’s goin’ out next week, but I figured you guys should know.”

There’s a strange sort of half-pause, as though the collective whole is holding its breath. Waiting for the joke to spring. Checking calendars: April 1st? Not yet. A couple of months away. A rumbling. Catalina makes a time-out signal.

“I’m not kidding. Rules for exceptions’re gonna be pretty damn strict, though, so careful you don’t get your hopes up. Can’t be anyone in the same department, stuff like that. Nothing to interfere with daily business, hear?”

Now the meeting explodes into a frenzy of questions and comments and complaints. Catalina waves them down, warns them she doesn’t know much, answers or ignores as best she can. By the meeting’s end some smile widely enough to hurt their faces; some conceal their tears and anger behind walls of impassivity and apathy for fear of discovery; some exit the room as neutrally as when they entered. Ross makes a show of collecting her papers. Accidentally she knocks over the coffeepot Catalina brought with her, now drained to the last drop. Kneeling down to gather the glass shards in the dust bin, Ross feels rather than sees Catalina crouch to assist her. “Some meeting, eh, Maria?”

 _Maria_.

“Mm. You seem excited, Captain Catalina. Did you have a . . . did you have someone in mind?” Their hands brush on one another. Ross looks away. Prays Catalina does not notice her blush. Prays Catalina _notices_.

“Please, call me Becca. Or Rebecca, if you’re bein’ all _formal_.” Catalina sticks her tongue out. Ross’s investigate skills direct themselves to her lips, so soft and so lush and so utterly kissable. “But yeah. Y’know Jean and Heymans? Oh, shit, that re _miiinds_ me. I’m gonna punch Jean’s ass so hard he’ll be shittin’ from his mouth for a week for that fuckin’ comment of his.”

Ross tries a smile. Her mouth feels funny. A joke. A clown. All she’s ever been, compared to Catalina. “J-jean and Heymans?”

Catalina waves. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s weird, but sometimes love is love. Gotta be free. Do whatever your heart says, right? And if I can be with both of the people I love, well, then, hell, I’ll be with both of ‘em. How ‘bout you? Does the great Maria Ross got someone who’s up’n caught her eye?” She slings her arm around Ross’s shoulders, or attempts to do so, because Ross has abruptly moved to the rubbish bin to throw the shards, and possibly herself, away.

“No,” she says. Less _says_ than _states_. Declares. No, not even that— _begs_ the universe to make it so. As though her words could somehow pierce her heart and rip it from her body without killing her. She could play the emotionless robot. She—she could. “No, I’ve got no one at all.”


End file.
